


Pushing It

by machka



Category: Bandom: MWK, Real Person Fiction, Tulsa Gangstas
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-20 05:11:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machka/pseuds/machka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'It is necessary to relax your muscles when you can. Relaxing your brain is fatal.' ~ Stirling Moss</p><p>Don't push too hard, too fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pushing It

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [hc_bingo](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/profile/) challenge, using the prompt "Sore Muscles."
> 
> Again, some of this is based in truth: Neal did punch a brick wall and break his hand when he was 19 years old, and their buddy Nick Gibson had to sit in on lead guitar while Neal's hand healed. Beyond that?
> 
> Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. The events described therein are not intended to represent actual events. No libel or defamation is intended in posting said fictitious work.
> 
> In other words, it's not real, because I made it all up.

"Great practice, guys! See you tomorrow!" Andy called, waving farewell to Robbie and Justin as they headed back to their cars. No offense to Nick, or anything - he was an awesome friend and an amazing guitar player, and he had really stepped up for them while Neal's broken hand had healed -- but, God, it was great to have the whole band playing together again.

Andy turned and trotted back through his parents' garage, which doubled as their practice space. Smiling to himself, Andy hit the button to close the automatic door, and traced his best friend's steps into his parents' home.

Just inside the door, Neal was stretching and flexing his left hand, wincing as his joints cracked and muscles cramped in protest. Groaning under his breath, he cradled his aching limb against his chest as his arm began to throb, trying to covertly massage the pain away. He'd pushed himself way too hard today, and fuck if he wasn't paying the price.

You'd think he would've learned by now, right?

Yeah...as if punching a brick wall bare-handed hadn't been lesson enough.

"Hey...you okay there?"

Damn it. Andy'd seen him. Neal'd been hoping he could hide it from him.

"Yeah...I'm fine. Hand's just a little tired, that's all..." Neal lied.

Andy eyed the older boy's left hand, which was nearly contorted into a claw from the seizing of muscles atrophying with disuse, and fixed his stare on Neal's face, arching a skeptical eyebrow.

Neal felt his face redden, and had to look away. "Yeah, okay...I'm not," he amended softly.

"You overdid it, didn't you," Andy murmured. "Neal..."

"I know, Andy, I know..."

"...You just got the splint off two days ago, man! You have to take it easy, work your way up..."

"Andy, I _know!_ "

The words came out much sharper than he intended, and Neal dropped his chin to his chest. Of all the people in the world, he would've thought Andy'd get it. Playing guitar was what Neal _did._ Without it, he was nothing. Practice tonight had been all about proving to himself that he could still do this, even with the metal in his hand, the screws holding the shattered bones together...

He'd done it to himself, of course. He _always_ did it to himself.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled a soft, hissing breath through his clenched teeth.

Several tense moments passed before he heard Andy's sigh, and the younger man's footsteps drawing nearer.

Even so, Neal startled slightly as Andy's hand ran over his shoulder and down his arm.

"May I see it?"

Andy's voice was low and soft in Neal's ear as he cupped Neal's elbow.

Neal turned his head toward Andy, opening his eyes to meet Andy's concerned gaze. Without a word, he relaxed the grip he had on his wrist, and surrendered his hand into Andy's care.

Andy hummed softly under his breath, his deft fingers easing out the knots and smoothing away the aches and pain. "There...see...getting better..." Andy murmured, gently rotating and flexing the weary joints. "Does it hurt badly?"

Neal swallowed back a groan, shaking his head. He understood Andy's choice of wording, and didn't want the younger man worrying unnecessarily. "It's just...sore," was all Neal would grudgingly admit.

Andy snorted out a soft laugh, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a half-smirk. "Right...you been doing those finger exercises my dad gave you?" He peered up into Neal's face, and rolled his eyes at the sheepish head-shake which was Neal's response.

"You are so fucking stubborn sometimes, Neal..." Andy sighed, but his words held no rancor. "There...how's that?"

"...Better."

Andy waited a beat, and then shook his head. "You're welcome." He lowered Neal's arm gently, and poked the other boy in the chest. "Now, go home and find your mom's heating pad, and keep that on your arm for a few hours. Take some ibuprofen. And for God's sake, take it easy for a while! Remember, we've got practice tomorrow!"

Neal groaned softly, and Andy smiled, impulsively wrapping the red-head up in a hug.

"It's good to have you back," he whispered.

"...Thanks," Neal replied, hugging Andy back.


End file.
